


Of Course You Would

by orangeyskies



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Bondage, Fat Character, Feeding, Food Issues, Handcuffs, Johnlock - Freeform, Kink With Plot, M/M, Sherlock - Freeform, Weight Gain, chubby!kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeyskies/pseuds/orangeyskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is feeling insecure about his weight-but Sherlock likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Dislikes Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried writing a fic for a food kink prompt, and liked it more than I probably should. There's not going to be a large amount of smut or anything involved. There will be a lot of the chubby!kink. If anyone enjoys this as much as I did, I've done my job ;) Feel welcome to leave any feedback or comment anything you'd like to see in the future :)

Sherlock was laying on the couch of 221B, seemingly asleep. But his brilliant mind, as usual, was focusing on his latest case. Sherlock’s thoughts were interrupted upon hearing John trudge up the stairs and come into the flat. John’s footsteps became noticeably lighter once he saw Sherlock on the couch and assumed he was asleep.

John walked in front of the couch and paused, looking down at Sherlock. He looked down at Sherlock’s body, the way his side gently sloped in when he was laying on his side. How Sherlock’s shirt didn’t even try to show it.

Then John looked up, and became a little disheartened when he caught himself in the mirror. He ran a hand over his stomach-he cringed thinking of that word. All that time in the military for what? A bullet wound and this? 

He put his hand to his belt and noticed that his stomach stuck out over it a considerable amount. He wondered if Sherlock had noticed. It wasn’t this bad when he first met Sherlock, but jesus. Not even the jumpers are hiding this anymore. Truth be told, John felt a bit bad about himself. About how Sherlock was always there, making sure John was eating and everything (maybe a bit too much) yet Sherlock himself looked more like a stick with curly hair.

Sherlock squinted his eyes and caught John looking disapprovingly at himself in the mirror. He knew it would come eventually, he always saw this kind of thing coming.

“John, stop it. This is stupid,” Sherlock said, causing John to jump a bit. He took his hand away from his belly-and cringed again.

“What’s stupid?”

“You look fine.”

“No, I’ve- I’ve gained some weight lately. I guess I’ll just start running or something.”

Sherlock supposed he should have accepted this and moved along, but John’s face told him the truth. Sherlock Holmes couldn’t ignore truth.

“John, you’re giving yourself away.”

“Sherlock… you wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that this is the third new pair of jeans you’ve bought. And that you’ve tried to skip breakfast for a week straight but ultimately failed. Also you’ve specifically avoided walking into this room lately because there’s a mirror here, and your shirts are wet after you come out of the shower. You’re upset because you’ve gained, what, twenty or so pounds? Of course I understand.”

John looked at Sherlock for a split second before almost shouting at him, “I mean how I feel! You wouldn’t understand my feelings. Get a grip, Sherlock.”

“John, you look healthy. Don’t make a big fuss over nothing.”

Sherlock heard John mutter something about “only fifteen” before leaving the room, and remembered how upset and defensive most people get over the topic. John had a point. Sherlock had never been one to worry about it; he never had to.

Sherlock hesitated, but nonetheless followed John into his bedroom. He stared at him concernedly for a few seconds before John said, “Okay, maybe it was twenty.”

Sherlock half smiled at John. “Listen to me. We are going to go have dinner now, and you are not going to try to skip out on any of it, will you do that for me?”

John hesitated, thinking of loopholes, but finally agreed.

“Fine. Those rolls I like better be there though.”

“Of course they will.”


	2. For The Sake of Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's been looking. He likes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not that creepy I swear

John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson sat down at 221B’s little dining room table for supper that evening. Sherlock kept stealing little glances at John to make sure he was comfortable.

He looked fine, happy even, and this made Sherlock feel a bit at peace. John was smiling a lot, and definitely eating. It made him feel good watching John eat. A little too good.

John noticed Sherlock giving him a weird, half aware look. Oh god, the poor guy must think I’m upset. But John wasn’t upset. Just a bit… thrown off. He’d never had to face his having gained weight- mentally, at least- until today. It didn’t feel bad on him, if he was quite honest. He kind of liked it in a strange way. John opened his legs wider to make more room for his stomach as he ate, and leaned forward so that his belt wasn’t in the way as much. Thinking of which, he noticed it was kind of on its side with his stomach pushing out over it. There was that feeling of not total hatred about it again.

Sherlock noticed John’s legs widen, and his midsection relax over his belt from across the table. What on earth was he feeling? Is this happiness? Then he realized, thanks to a little twitch in his pants.

John kept eating, definitely still not hating himself. He caught Sherlock looking at him more, but each time smiled reassuringly back at him. This was fine. John Watson deserved it, he could let himself go a bit for one night. 

Then John caught Sherlock shifting in his chair and staring into space, concentrating on something for a quick second, looking a bit awkward. Damn, does he like this?

He’d thought a good deal about Sherlock having sex, if he was quite honest, but never thought he actually had… reactions down there.

He gave Sherlock a small, questioning glance- and saw Sherlock already looking at him. Sherlock did his wry half smile that John tried to tell himself he hated, looking him straight in the eye, then down John’s body. John gave a barely noticeable wink. This was fun.

He took a bite out of a roll, looking Sherlock back in the eyes.

Oh, this was a lot of fun.

But that ended.

“Oh John, will you try to leave something for the rest of us?” Mrs. Hudson joked.

Even Sherlock understood it was a joke, but John still closed his legs and sucked his stomach in a tiny bit, as much as it would help.

“Yeah, I’ll just be going now,” he announced nonchalantly, and left the kitchen.

“Me too,” Sherlock muttered to Mrs. Hudson. “Really, everything’s fine,” Sherlock said in answer to Mrs. Hudson’s concerned look.

He spotted John in the living room, laying where John had found Sherlock earlier that evening. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that his jumper was riding up a bit around his stomach. Sherlock stared at the soft, bare skin a bit. He wanted to feel it. Nothing wrong with that. It’s not like John could see him yet. Besides, this was observation.

John looked up and saw Sherlock staring at his stomach.

“Dammit,” he said, and made his best attempt to pull his clothes down.

“Are you okay?” Sherlock said, slightly mechanically.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to go to bed now-” John started, but upon standing, the button on his jeans came undone. His stomach hung down a bit. Perfectly.

“Yeah, that’s it, I’m fucking done. Goodnight, Sherlock,” he said half-heartedly, and quickly walked to his room.


	3. Soft

John spent all of his Saturday moping around the flat, waiting for Sherlock to get home from Wherever the Hell Sherlock Goes on Saturdays. He felt, for some reason, like he had something to prove to his friend. Maybe, that he hadn’t gained that much weight. Just a couple pounds.

He had slept in until 1 after staying up most of the night, and didn’t get out of his pyjamas until 6, the time Sherlock usually came home, unless on an interesting case. His plan was laid out in front of his immensely tired self - nice fitting trousers and a black shirt with a coat to go over it. Totally safe. He had them laid out on his bed. John took his shirt off, completely avoiding looking down. He avoided the unwelcome jiggle that accompanied walking without a shirt on (most of the time) and laid down on his bed beside the clothes, his hand over his stomach. He rubbed back and forth over it, slightly saddened by the fact that it still wasn’t flat while he was laying down. 

Around 6:30, Sherlock found himself in the living room, looking for John. Was he not home? Or just hiding around somewhere for attention? He almost gave up looking, but finally opened the door to John’s bedroom. He saw John curled up on his side on the bed, a hand over his… very shirtless self. Sherlock lost his breath momentarily.

Sherlock had never strongly felt the need to use the word ‘cute,’ but this was definitely the time to. John just looked so soft, and he was balled up slightly so that his stunning little kitten tummy touched his knee. John looked not only cute, but absolutely adorable. Sherlock walked silently to the side of the bed and took a closer look at the clothes John had laid out. His intentions were all too clear. But why had he tried to pretend like yesterday never happened?

Sherlock walked even more quietly to stand beside John. He looked at him with fascination for a good minute, before deciding not to kid with himself and looked directly at John’s stomach, resting against the side of the bed. His yes trailed down John’s back, and dear god, that ass. He wanted to wake him up by grabbing it.

There it was again. That twitch.

Sherlock reached out towards John and decided on touching a rather pudgy arm to wake him. As usual, he was right, John felt incredibly soft.

John opened his eyes groggily, but once he realized he was only half-dressed, he sat straight up.

“Sherl- what are you-oh god…”

John tried to cover himself with his hands, and Sherlock carefully moved them away.

“What did you once tell me? Get a grip?” Sherlock asked him.

“Yes, I believe I’ve said that.” John did his best to straighten his back and look at Sherlock with any dignity at all. What am I doing? Can a man not be shirtless? What is my goddamn problem? He was startling aware now of how his stomach must look, how his thighs must look with him sitting- he always tried to have at least a newspaper or something on his lap around others.

Sherlock motioned towards John’s jacket and jeans combination that were laying on the bed.

“What’s with this?” he asked.

“Sherlock Holmes doesn’t know?”

“Of course I know. I just can’t believe you tried to fool me.”

John laughed a tiny bit.

Both Sherlock and John were highly aware of how John looked, sitting on the edge of his bed, though they continued to look each other in the eye.

“John, there’s something… I have… to say to you….” Sherlock sat on the bed next to John and lowered his voice. “The truth is… I like you heavier. Even if you don’t like it.”

“How- how could you though? I mean, I can imagine it looking cute on other people. But on me it’s just-” he patted his stomach, causing it to quiver a little ”-you know.”

“Apparently I don’t know, because I think it looks… incredible…”

Sherlock took John’s hand and pressed it against his jeans. John’s palm touched Sherlock’s erection and he looked him in the eyes.


	4. Handcuffs May Be Involved

The detective unbottoned his shirt and tossed it aside, giving John a look as if to say ’there, now we’re even.’

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” John said, staring at Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock couldn’t tell if John was looking in wonder or surprise but he definitely liked it. John’s mouth was open just the slightest. Then John looked embarrassed when he saw Sherlock doing his snarky half-smile again, this time at his midsection.

“I’ve been out of the military for a while,” he tried to explain as Sherlock poked him. What a fucking tease.

“I’m actually almost surprised you aren’t completely against where this is going,” Sherlock said.

“Well, we’ve obviously both got the same kink so- wait almost?!”

Sherlock pulled a pair of handcuffs from John’s nightstand drawer.

“Sherlock, how the hell did you-?”

“Must we go into specifics? Mind, what are you into? Humiliation? Feeding?”

“I have no idea.”

“Yes. You do,” Sherlock insisted.

“Fine. Both really, if you have to know.”

“Good. Center of the bed. Hands behind your back.”

Sherlock closed the handcuffs around John’s wrists and shut the door to John’s room.

“Hey Sherlock, are you sure Mrs. Hudson isn’t home? Because I-“

“Be quiet! It’s always the chubby ones, they talk too much.”

John blushed, though he was slightly amazed by Sherlock’s sudden character change.

Sherlock got on the bed, on all fours in front of John.

“Didn’t you used to be an army doctor?”

“That’s correct.”

Sherlock straightened so he was on his knees. John could feel his belly shaking in front of him as anticipation built inside.

Sherlock got close to John’s face -unbearably close- and said two words straight to John’s eyes that made John go fully erect in his already tight pants.

“What. Happened.”

Sherlock took off John’s belt, and much to Sherlock’s pleasure John’s stomach fell a little.

“I’ll show you how I get people like you in shape.”

Sherlock put his hand over John’s rather pudgy one and straddled him, placing his other hand on John’s soft chest, and kissed him. Hard. Then he slowly took off John’s pants, making a show of the fact that it was rather difficult.

John happened to be sitting in such a way so that the bottom of his stomach and his erection were touching. Which only made Sherlock’s job that much easier.

“You got enough room over there? Or do you like chocolate a little too much?”

“I’d go with the chocolate.”

“Of course you would,” muttered Sherlock, pulling a bar of chocolate from his coat on the bed.

John looked at Sherlock for a second, feeling half annoyed, half amused. But mostly turned on.

“God, I fucking hate you. I mean I’m not that hungry.”

But John’s stomach growled and gave him away.

“Fuck.”

“Too bad, you can’t have this until we’ve burned some of this” - Sherlock patted John’s belly with a wink- “off.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”


	5. So Help Me

Sherlock and John were still smiling from a great lunch at a café down the street while walking into 221B. By now, three weeks from the night that started all of this, Sherlock’s attempts at letting John lose weight by engaging in certain activities seemed laughable.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?” John beamed.

“Quite aware,” Sherlock replied, grinning back at him.

“Oh come here.”

They kissed passionately against the door, Sherlock’s hands gripping John’s sides like it was the last thing he would ever touch. The kiss felt different to both of them. There was more emotion involved. More trust. John’s arms wrapped around Sherlock’s neck. It was a wonder to him how even the man’s neck could be sexy, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.

Before they knew it, they were in the living room, John on the couch. Sherlock leaned over and slowly unbuttoned John’s white shirt. The buttons came undone quite easily. At the bottom John’s stomach flat out protested being held back, and the buttons only needed to be touched to come off. Both were extremely turned on by it.

John’s stomach came into his lap now when seated. Sherlock took John’s belt off, releasing the extra strain. He held the belt in his hand like a whip.

“Let me get yours,” John insisted, and unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt.

John smirked slightly and quickly. All the eating out they had been doing hadn’t gone without its consequences for Sherlock. His previously very defined stomach had softened, and even looked a bit squishy at the bottom. His chest didn’t look as hard. To people who didn’t see Sherlock undressed on a regular basis, it wouldn’t be at all noticeable.

But Sherlock had to have noticed. He notices everything, John thought. But Sherlock seemed to be acting completely normally (for him, of course). He didn’t even appear to have seen John’s smirk.

“What did I tell you about losing weight?” Sherlock teased.

John said sarcastically, “I don’t know, what did you say?” and he looked with a half smile of his own at Sherlock’s midsection. Sherlock blushed.

So he has noticed. 

Sherlock hesitated but went on. “I said, if you keep eating the way you do, this-” he squeezed a handful of John’s stomach- “will never go away.”

John pointedly glanced at Sherlock’s own torso, making Sherlock blush even more. John chuckled at him.

Sherlock sighed. “Okay, fine, you’re right. I’m aware.”

“Could it be?”

“At least this isn’t noticeable. Everyone and their mother knows you’ve been gaining weight. Haven’t you noticed Mrs. Hudson making a few less rolls for you lately?”

John was a bit surprised. Was Sherlock telling the truth? Was it really that noticeable? He didn’t know. He dismissed it as part of Sherlock’s character he had going. Sherlock did have a point, though. Everyone knew. Even worse, what if they knew it was mostly for kinky reasons at this point? Fairly, his stomach didn’t deserve the title of being a cute little tummy he played up anymore. It really was starting to look more like a belly.

“Okay, Sherlock, I have a confession to make. Sometimes I feel like it’s becoming too much.” John put a hand on his stomach as he said this, making Sherlock moan into his hand. “Starting tomorrow, I’m going on a diet. Or so help me.”

“John, come on, it’s really not that bad. I’m playing a character.”

“No, what you said- you’re right. It may turn me on. A lot. But I don’t want to have to face your friends or my friends and keep being made a joke.”

“You’re not a joke! Wherever do you get that idea?”

“Sherlock, I see the looks people give me. I see them poking me and I don’t like it.”

Just when Sherlock was getting a bit disheartened, he came up with something that could be just as fun to do. Watch John fail miserably at dieting- with a little secret help.


	6. In Which the Diet Fails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we're getting into feeding now
> 
> because I feel like it

“How’s the diet going?”

“Jesus, Sherlock, it’s been one day. And terrible, if you must know.”

“We could always make it a little worse….”

John saw a chocolate bar sticking out of Sherlock’s back pocket and shook his head.

“No, I can’t do that. Not today. I’ve been doing so well.”

“Then how is it going terribly?”

John’s stomach growled.

“I can fix that,” Sherlock persisted.

“Well, I’ve only had one thing all day….”

“Two.”

“How could you possibly know that?” John asked.

“Your back pocket.”

“How is staring at my arse a deduction?”

“You had a small breakfast before grabbing five dollars from your dresser - you usually leave the house in the mornings with five dollars in your back pocket - and now you only have change. A good amount of it. Therefore, you bought something small. Something from a vending machine. If it had been from the street, you’d have been longer getting home. You’ve eaten at least two things today.”

“So staring at my arse is a deduction.”

“Quite a nice one, too.”

John’s stomach growled again.

“My offer stands,” Sherlock continued, waving the chocolate bar at John.

“Fine. But only because I’ve already screwed up today.”

Sherlock half-smiled. “Get back in the handcuffs.”

John walked to his room while Sherlock stood in the living room. How could he screw this up as much as possible?

When John returned, his hands were bound behind his back. And he was shirtless.

Sherlock’s breath caught a little in his throat. “Get-get on the couch” he stammered.

John smiled upon hearing Sherlock stutter. His little idea had done its job.

Sherlock brought out the bar of chocolate and started slowly unwrapping it in front of John, whose stomach growled looking at it. He blushed. Sherlock smirked.

John looked down at his stomach and back at Sherlock. I really shouldn’t….

He couldn’t resist Sherlock, though.

Sherlock held the candy out to John, who ate it rather quickly from Sherlock’s hand.

“Are we done yet?” John asked Sherlock, who simply laughed in response. He pulled another chocolate bar out of his coat.

“You cannot be serious,” John scowled. “So you really get off on watching me eat?”

Sherlock looked at John’s pants. “I think you get off on it too.”

“Damn.”

John ate the second candy bar only a little slower than the first.

“And something special now…”

Sherlock came out of the kitchen with a plethora of Mrs. Hudson’s rolls on a plate.

John’s face flushed pink. “God, Sherlock, I really shouldn’t.”

“That was close to a perfect sentence,” said Sherlock, holding out a roll to John’s mouth before he could protest.

Sherlock took off John’s pants and kept himself more than occupied while John ate. When they were both done, John sighed and leaned back into the couch.

Sherlock kneeled next to John, facing him on the couch, and rubbed his full stomach. His warm fingers felt incredible to John. In that moment, he couldn’t care what anyone else thought. He was too happy. So was Sherlock.

Sherlock put John’s pants back on him for the time being and un-cuffed him. Just to make the next part more surprising. For half an hour, they held hands on the couch.

“Well, I might never look at chocolate quite the same way again,” John laughed.

“What about rolls?”

“It’s already bad enough getting a boner just thinking about going to a restaurant with you.”

They talked and flirted a little more before John got up to get a glass of water. Sherlock hid by the doorway, waited until John came out, and slid a handcuff over his free hand. He took the water out of the other hand and cuffed that one too.

“Ugh, Sherlock, not again, I’m too full.”

“Shhh, no really, lunch is on me.”

Sherlock brought out a pizza he had kept warm in the oven and set it in front of John.

“Go.”

Sherlock expected John to say that he couldn’t, or he would insist on still being full, but John looked Sherlock straight in the eye as he started eating, and winked after the first bite.

“God, you’re perfect.”

John quickly slipped Sherlock’s shirt off over his head.

“I know. You want some?”

Sherlock looked conflicted. ”No, no, I’m not hungry.”

“Neither am I, but I’m eating.”

Sherlock still looked hesitant, but his hunger won against his conscience.

“Oh come on,” John said, and poked him in his stomach, feeling a delightful little squish.

“Well, seeing as that was the last of my dignity, I suppose I’ll try.”

John made a show of eating far more than Sherlock, who barely even ate a slice of pizza. When John got over half way through the box, he stopped.

“I’m done. I am so done.”

“Not yet.”

“I’m gonna throw up.”

“Not on my watch.”

Sherlock pulled a tub of ice cream from the fridge.

“How’d you know that was my favourite?”

“What isn’t your favourite?”

Sherlock spoon fed John the ice cream, kissing him in between bites, until John felt pain and told Sherlock he had to stop.

John had never felt a pain as peculiar as this one. He put a hand on his soft stomach lightly, afraid it might burst if he pressed too hard. Sherlock quickly put his half-eaten slice down to rub it himself, laying next to him on the couch.


	7. Belt Problems

John woke up beside Sherlock on the couch the next morning. He silently thanked every deity he'd ever heard of for the fact that he and John had remembered to clothe themselves before falling asleep.

Sherlock was still asleep next to him, his head resting against John's stomach. John wished he could pull his shirt down a little more without disturbing Sherlock, and instead ran his hand lightly through Sherlock's hair. 

Looking at Sherlock, John wondered if this was the happiest he'd ever been. It certainly felt like it. 

Yet part of him returned to feeling embarrassed. John felt a bit ashamed that he and Sherlock were so entertained by something that also occurred as greedy and selfish to him.  
Every time he tried to change, he gave in.

And for the next few days, while Sherlock was away at Wherever The Hell Sherlock Goes, John tried again not to give up on himself. But he realized something, alone-no matter whether it was loosening his belt just to sit down, or loosening it because he was convinced he was losing weight- he was never completely happy.  
Deep inside him? If it brought Sherlock and him closer together, he didn't mind his belt problems. He would be okay with the exasperating jiggle experienced while running after Sherlock. He wouldn't mind the poking and teasing, if it were only the two of them.

John started wearing his tighter shirts again without a care while Sherlock was away. It was the weekend, there was nobody around to criticize him. He found himself at the computer on Sunday, updating his blog, when he heard the door open behind him slowly. He knew it was Sherlock- no one else was so arrogantly suspenseful. 

His first reaction was to stare open mouthed in disbelief before looking behind him at the door - he just had to be wearing this t-shirt, on this day - and then he remembered. Sherlock liked it. John liked it. There was nothing wrong with that.

"Good afternoon," Sherlock said. "I-I... I missed... you. I missed you."

John turned around and smiled. It was still hard for Sherlock to say things like that.

"Aw, I missed you too."

Sherlock hugged John, pulling John's shirt up a bit, which Sherlock noticed with a smile. Normally John would have tried to pull it back down, but instead hugged Sherlock even harder back. He liked finally being able to hug Sherlock without worrying about how his stomach pressed against his Sherlock's coat. But John found himself recoil when Sherlock put a hand on his waist.

"Sorry, I won't-"

"No, no, it's fine."

John gave Sherlock a reassuring look, and didn't look away from his eyes. Sherlock looked into John's eyes as well, making sure he wasn't crossing any boundaries, and gently squeezed John's hips. John let out a sigh, but maintained eye contact.

"You sure you're okay?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah. I realized something while you were away-"

"I see the scale's hidden from here, John." Sherlock glanced at the bathroom, where the scale could usually be found. "And you left those running shoes by the door again. You weren't going back to being all obsessive, were you?"

John was amazed at how he hadn't even told Sherlock he was feeling embarrassed about himself. But Sherlock knew.

"Everything was going okay with that, but then I-"

"Not everything."

"I mean, I was trying, Sherlock. That's all I could ask for."

"It shouldn't have to be. You shouldn't have to try. Who are you trying to impress?"

"That's just what I figured. I would always try to impress myself, and worry myself to insanity."

"Exactly. And did worrying make you feel better?"

"You know. I'd been better than that."

"And when were you better?"

John smiled.


	8. Four In the Goddamn Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry this has gone on so long but I love this chapter :D

A few days later, John woke up painfully early to Sherlock standing beside his bed. 

"First case together."

"Again?"

John knew what this meant. Any time Sherlock had a particularly fast case to handle, and wanted John along (which was more times than Sherlock cared to admit), Sherlock would remind John of their first case together- when they went running through the streets of London after a cab. Mostly a false alarm, but still, part of their first case together. 

John pulled on a sweater as he ran after Sherlock, who was already out the door. When he caught up to Sherlock on the pavement, he noticed it was still dark outside. His watch told him it was 4 in the morning. Sherlock grabbed John by the arm and started walking quickly.

"Hey Sherlock, where exactly are we going at 4 in the goddamn morning?"

"Quiet. See that woman ahead?" Sherlock gestured toward a woman who was walking swiftly ahead. "She's holding a briefcase she just took from a man who got into that cab over there. He stole something- something big, money perhaps- and she's got his record in there. We have to keep up with her."

"Sounds fair," John said, but right after he said that, the woman they were chasing started half-jogging and turned a corner.

"Over here." Sherlock led John down an alleyway between buildings. "She's going right, and she's going to keep going right, because the cab went left. Key from the lock. She has to meet up with the cab eventually, though. So we have to keep following."

Sherlock broke out in a run, and John kept up. Sherlock glanced at John, smiling. He hadn't kept up this well since the first time they'd done this. Granted, the first time he'd been a bit behind too, but John was doing well.

Then John noticed the alleyways and small tunnels they were running through getting narrower. He knew Sherlock was thinking about it too.

"Sherlock...."

Sherlock made a point of ignoring him. 

"Okay, this is ridiculous," John announced, when it got the point where he and Sherlock were turned sideways trying to walk between walls. "We've lost her by now."

"Maybe not. I think I know where the cab is going."

John flushed red when he noticed his sweater rubbing against the side of one of the walls. "Yeah. Um, Sherlock? This isn't lasting much longer for me."

"You're fine."

"Nope."

John sucked in and moved a few steps further until stopping. Sherlock looked back at him.

"It's not much further."

"Sherlock, I can't do it."

John felt trapped. And his face felt red.

"Makes sense," Sherlock said. "Take off your sweater."

"What? No! I'm not wearing anything underneath."

"Fine by me."

"Haven't windows been invented by now?"

"To my knowledge. But there aren't any down this low, we're below ground level and basement level for most places by now."

John sighed. "Fine. I give up."

The front of John's sweater was stuck between his stomach and the wall. Sherlock slid it off John, whose face grew even redder after noticing that his belly was indeed a bit red, hanging out a little more than a bit over his belt.

"Oh, Sherlock, I'm-"

Sherlock didn't let John finish, and instead leaned over and kissed him.

"Don't say you're sorry to me. You're perfect, and you're like... my other half."

"More like two thirds."

"No. Don't say that."

John held his sweater in front of him, just in case they saw anyone. Sherlock took it away. 

"It's dark, and there's nobody else down here," Sherlock said firmly. 

"You're down here."

"No, John. We're down here."

John realized, yet again, Sherlock was right. He followed Sherlock out of the narrow alleyway and up some stairs, to an area that reached the pavement. Pavement that was blocked by a cab and a police car. The sky had gotten noticeable lighter...0r maybe that was just the siren.

"Quick!" Sherlock whispered, and pushed John up against the nearest building side. John thought he would once again have a gun pointed at him by Sherlock for the sake of a case, but Sherlock kissed him again. This time it was more aggressive and unforgiving. John glanced over and saw the woman they were chasing by the cab-in handcuffs?

He figured Sherlock had probably already accounted for this as part of the plan. Hell, John was making out with Sherlock and there was a purpose. And Sherlock's coat covered John's body, still without the sweater Sherlock had tucked under his arm in the coat.

"Hey, Sherlock?" John panted. "Look."

"Oh, wow. I sent him a text, but I didn't think it would actually happen."

Inspector Lestrade was talking to the woman in the handcuffs, looking enormously proud of himself. He made sure the woman was in the police car before turning around to examine the area- and then he almost doubled over laughing, seeing Sherlock and John pulling away from each other in the alley ahead.

"What the hell is this?" Lestrade laughed, leaning against the car, his hand covering his face. "Weren't you on a case, Sherlock?"

Sherlock left John to annoy Lestrade, but when Lestrade saw John shirtless, he laughed even harder. 

"Dear god," John sighed. But unlike all his previous experiences with his weight and Lestrade, he just smiled. There wasn't much else he could do, and he was in no way going to beg for his sweater back.

Sherlock was ahead of him, though, and tossed it to him. 

"What did you do in that alleyway? Get him pregnant?"


	9. A Civilized Meeting

Sherlock punched the hell of out of Lestrade and he and john left that bitch


	10. Lestrade Sucks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anytime you want me to finish this off let me know XD

"Hey, I appreciate you punching the hell out of Lestrade back there. That was very nice."

"Anytime. And I mean anytime."

John laughed, and realized it sounded a little weak.

"You okay?" Sherlock asked. 

"Yeah... I just feel bad this has become such a problem. I never meant it to."

"It's completely fine."

Sherlock felt his eyes creep down to John's belt. He loved the way John's tummy pushed against his shirt around there.

John caught his gaze, but he was used to it by now.

"I mean we're probably both weird for liking this kind of thing, but we're in it together, right? All that matters."

"Of course."

John sighed and walked away from Sherlock to his room, figuring he might as well take a nap after barely sleeping the night before. 

He laid down on his back, laying a hand across his stomach. He wasn't as chubby as he recently had gotten; by now his weight had stopped fluctuating like mad and was returning to a state of somewhat usual. Still not how he'd prefer it, but better nonetheless. 

Sherlock managed to sneak into the room almost without John noticing. He laid down next to John and snuck a hand up John's shirt to rub his stomach. Sherlock gently kneaded his hand back and forth until he had his arm around John's soft torso and rested his head against him.

John noticed how good it felt to feel like he had some control over Sherlock. Usually Sherlock was so dominating, dragging John along with him on his cases. Sherlock didn't look so powerful now, likely already asleep next to John. 

John used his free hand to pull his laptop from his nightstand to beside him on the bed. He opened it up and checked his blog, reading some of his most recent comments. Then he switched tabs and saw a picture of a well built man in a swimsuit- at first John was confused. It wasn't like Sherlock to look up pictures of other men. Or anyone at all, unless it was for a case. 

Then he realized it probably wasn't just for Sherlock's amusement or something of the sort- he was probably just looking at swimsuits. It was getting warmer outside, after all. Plus, if Sherlock wanted to see men undressed, it would be all the way. 

John stared at the man in the picture. He wondered if this was what Sherlock's expectations were. It didn't look like himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen any definition in his midsection-that was even before he'd met Sherlock.

Sherlock nuzzled his nose closer into John's side, his other hand gripping John's bare skin under the shirt.

John cast a questioning look down at Sherlock and at himself before falling asleep.


	11. Chocolate Doesn't Suck

About an hour after falling asleep, John woke up to Sherlock shifting positions against him. John noticed a slight pain coming from somewhere on his stomach, and realized sadly that he'd have to look at that mess to figure out what was causing it.

John debated on pulling his shirt up or unbuttoning it, but realized he couldn't pull the shirt up without disturbing Sherlock. He quietly undid the tight buttons and pulled the right side of his shirt away. There were a few red marks from where Sherlock's fingers had been digging into his stomach, and one more from a button that Sherlock's hand had pressed into him. John just sighed. He wondered if he even cared anymore. Then he remembered the picture he had pulled up before his nap -how he didn't like the idea of Sherlock comparing John to other men, even if it wasn't on purpose. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock coughing loudly after almost being strangled to death by his scarf while asleep.

"This man is a detective," John muttered with a groggy smile.

"Oh hey John," Sherlock slurred. "I put Bluebell back in her cage and the fairies went home to Neverland. Also Anderson is dead again."

"Are you sleep-talking, Sherlock? Does this count as being awake?"

"Good morning, John."

"It's not morning, Sherlock."

"Whatever you say, John."

Sherlock army-crawled up the bed and put his head on the pillow next to John.

John glanced at his watch. "Wow, it's noon. There goes any sleep routine I ever had."

"We were running most of the night. You haven't eaten breakfast. Or lunch, for that matter." Sherlock recalled.

"Don't say that-" John's stomach growled. "Dammit Sherlock. And you haven't had any breakfast either. We were both up at arse o'clock in the morning."

"I'm verging on nocturnal, John, we don't have the same internal schedule."

"No excuses."

"Oh yes, it almost slipped my mind- I have these," Sherlock smirked, and reached into the pocket of his coat.

"If this is what I think it is...."

"I got you more chocolate."

Sherlock looked pleased with himself as he put two chocolate bars in John's hand.

"You shouldn't have. Like, you really should not have."

John buttoned his shirt again as he buried his face in his pillow, laying on his side so that he faced away from Sherlock.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"I saw you were looking at swimsuits on my computer, I mean, I forgot that season is coming up and I thought- and I'm worried about stuff-"

"What are you worried about? It's okay. You know you can tell me anything."

"I just hate the idea of you comparing me to other guys. They're all muscle-y or whatever, like I used to be before, you know-"

"You let yourself go?"

"Not helping, Sherlock."

"I said you could tell me things, I never said I could help."

"Of course. Anyway, I just hate that idea. Of you looking at someone else and thinking what you could do with them because they're not me."

While John said this, Sherlock opened a chocolate bar, and when John was done talking, Sherlock got John to sit up next to him and he put one half in John's mouth and bit the other half himself.

John giggled a little and used his hands to break the half off that wasn't in Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock licked the chocolate off John's fingers and around John's lips.

"You were saying?"

"I was saying that I- I'm afraid of what you think of me. And what others think of me."

"Well, here's an accurate representation for you about how much you should care what others think."

Sherlock undid the buttons on John's shirt, counting them down. 

"The number of buttons buttoned is the amount of fucks you should give. Oh look, there's zero."

"Ah. Clever."

Sherlock slid John's shirt down in an attempt to take it off, but John stopped him. 

"What if Mrs. Hudson's home or something? I mean the door to the room's open."

"Who says a man can't go shirtless?"

"You don't go around like that- well, you do sleep naked. And occasionally wake up wrapped in a sheet that you wear to the heart of the British nation."

"See my point?"

"You're different though. You can get away with it. You could walk around naked and we'd all be fine with it."

"The police weren't."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Fine. I'll leave my shirt off if it pleases you."

John took this as his chance to pretend like he didn't actually care at all about his weight, and sat on the couch as casually as he could while spreading a newspaper in front of him. Sherlock batted it away. 

"No."

John waited until Sherlock walked into the kitchen to look down at himself disapprovingly. He recoiled into the couch a bit after he moved ever so slightly and still felt his stomach jiggle a bit. He poked at himself teasingly, then decided to put his feet up on the couch and pretend to lay down with their British flag pillow over his midsection. Much better.

Until Sherlock came back and batted that away too.

"You're never going to-" Sherlock started, but there was a knock on the door to interrupt him.

"Go into the bedroom, John."

"Might as well."

John sighed and walked to his room. He had his hand on the doorknob when he heard a familiar and frightening sound- Jim Moriarty's voice.

He decided that if Sherlock wanted to handle this one on his own, he should be able to. John closed the bedroom door behind him and went over to his closet to find a shirt- but the closet had been locked somehow. The bedroom door was locked behind him as well. He had no shirt and no easy way out. And who knew what was going on with Sherlock in the meantime.


	12. A Study in Anatomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a special place in hell reserved for me. It's called the throne.
> 
> Also feel free to leave comments *cringes* :)

"Sherlock!" John yelled from the room. "I hate you!"

"Nope!" Sherlock called back.

"What's wrong with you two?"

James Moriarty took a chair across from Sherlock. Sherlock squinted his eyes a bit and looked him over. Why would he be here? The last time they'd seen each other had been ages ago. And it had involved bombs.

Sherlock couldn't come up with a reason.

"Just visiting a friend," Moriarty drawled. "That's what people do..."

"Not you, though. What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing, I overheard Mycroft saying some words, that's all, just some words."

Moriarty gave a small, knowing smile.

"What... exactly... did you hear Mycroft saying?" asked Sherlock slowly.

"That you and John were doing a bit of, how shall we put this? Doing a bit of anatomy research together."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!"

"You can't deny it."

Sherlock looked away in slightly amused disbelief. "But... why would you care about these-"

Moriarty gave a sarcastic wink.

Or was it sarcastic?

"Let's go and do a little investigating for ourselves," Moriarty declared, and opened the door which had locked John in.

Sherlock followed closely behind, though not long before having his mouth filled with some kind of cloth by Moriarty. They saw John curled up completely under the covers. John's voice was barely audible through the covers. "I don't feel like it, I don't care. Fuck you."

James Moriarty slipped off the top layer of his three piece suit and climbed on top of John on the bed.

"No, Sherlock, what the-"

Sherlock wasn't on the bed, but still standing in the doorway, perplexed. Was this a joke? Another scheme?

Moriarty turned his head to grin at Sherlock, who only gave a muffled cry in response before John's eyes peeked out over the covers. "What the fuck is this?" Sherlock gave as much of a smirk as he could. Moriarty got off the bed and took the cloth out of Sherlock's mouth.

"There, do you have enough evidence or whatever it is you want?" Sherlock asked.

"You know what I want."

"I have a few ideas."

Sherlock glanced at John, who gave him a look of steel back. He wasn't backing out. Sherlock looked into Moriarty's eyes. He got the same look in return of 'if you want to.'

"I know what you're doing," Sherlock stated flatly.

"Do you?"

"Either way, this will tell me for sure."

Sherlock moved his hands toward the other man's pants zipper, still looking him directly in the eye. "Ready to stop yet?"

Sherlock unzipped the pants slowly and dragged them down.

"I'm surprised," Sherlock smirked.

"That's what I do," Moriarty said softly in a sing-song voice.

Sherlock pulled his trousers down, and licked at Moriarty's cock before sucking it gently. He looked at John, who was staring open-mouthed at Sherlock. Moriarty unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the bed, leaving him completely naked.

"Wow this is happening," John muttered. "Oh my god. What the...."

Sherlock let Moriarty finish in his mouth after a minute, then stood up straight in front of him.

"Stopping now?"

Moriarty gave Sherlock half a smile before leaning in and kissing Sherlock slowly and dramatically.

"Whoa," John breathed.

Sherlock pulled away and guided Moriarty with his hands onto the bed. Then he motioned for John.

"John, you can give this man proper CPR. See if he gets cured."

Still Moriarty wasn't pulling away. Sherlock wondered if he really wasn't acting. Perhaps that gay thing Moriarty had pulled a while ago was real?

John moved out from his place under the covers and straddled Moriarty, leaning over and open mouth kissing him. He made it as messy and rough as possible, almost trying on purpose at this point to make Moriarty chicken out. John dipped down just a bit, letting his stomach brush on Moriarty's body. If Moriarty hadn't had a rock hard boner before, he definitely developed one now. John smiled. He had found James Moriarty's weak spot.

Moriarty reached over and undid John's belt, throwing his pants to the side until both men were naked. He dug his fingers into John's soft waist as John rocked back and forth on top of him. He then turned Moriarty over and entered him rather roughly from behind. Moriarty leaned up so he could feel John's stomach on his back a little bit. Hell yes. There was no way he was going to come first, though. He let John finish before he finally did. Loudly. 

Moriarty flipped over so he was laying on his back again. Sherlock let him lay there for a few seconds before saying casually, "Oh, yes, there's someone on the phone here for you, Jim." Sherlock held Moriarty's phone out to him.

Moriarty looked slightly shaken. "Was it... on speakerphone or anything?"

"I can't seem to remember."

"Ah, well played Sherlock. I have to leave. I'll be back though. I want my... revenge."

Moriarty stood up and started putting his clothes back on.

"Sherlock Holmes, you're a naughty boy. You'll be lucky if I don't tell Mycroft about this."

"I'd be happy to send him a video."

Moriarty laughed and walked slowly out of the room.

 


End file.
